


All Mine

by inber



Series: Inber's Geralt x Reader Fanfiction [13]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, Out of Character, Romance, Smut, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23671123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inber/pseuds/inber
Summary: This ficlet is inspired by the song ‘All Mine’ by Portishead, which is an excellent song to fuck to. Therefore, I hope you enjoy this slow, heady smut-fic, in which Geralt feasts upon you.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/You
Series: Inber's Geralt x Reader Fanfiction [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1840087
Comments: 5
Kudos: 122





	All Mine

The front door closes, and you look up from the windowsill, framed by lavender low-light as the sun sneaks beneath the horizon. Geralt hefts his pack to the ground, tugging his gloves free from his hands, before unbuckling his spaulders, dutifully hanging them on designated pegs. You rise, turning down the corner of your book, a bad habit that leaves your tomes well-loved. The smile you greet him with is returned; his is a lazy thing, a softening of his sharp features and an ivory flash of fang.

Nothing is said. There's no need for words, not when he can decipher the slightest tick of your facial expressions with scholarly accuracy. He pulls his boots free and pads across the room, slipping one hand around the small of your back to pull you close to him.

_**But when you smile** _

_**Oh how I feel so good** _

_**That I can hardly wait** _

He scents you before he does anything else, something you know is an indulgence for him; he draws deeply of the fresh ginger still clinging to your fingertips from time in the kitchen, of the rosewater you favour at your pulse-points, of the day's salt-sweat on your skin. When he exhales, it's something of a low purr, and you shiver with it, your nipples pebbling stiff beneath the thin cotton of your summer dress.

He leans down to kiss you, and it's unhurried; his mouth asks gently of your own, and you part your lips, letting him taste you with sweet sweeps as he licks all feline-soft, the silver scrape of his stubble brushing your jaw as you push up on tip-toe to demand more of him. For a moment, he gives you want you want, all bruising intensity and nipping teeth, and you spill a sound of delight that he releases into the closeness between you as he pulls away. Greedily, you chase his kiss, and he chuckles roughly, denying you.

Love-drunk, you open your eyes to meet his; in the twilight of the room, he's all pupil, the golden bands of his irises like promise rings. He tugs at the strings of your house-dress, dusty with flour and the day's work; like pulling petals from a daisy, he teases them apart through each eyelet. _He loves me, he loves me not._

You move your arm through the sleeve when he peels it aside, and copy the gesture with the other. The fabric slinks down the curves of your body, settles in a puddle at your feet; you, expecting him, are void of small-clothes, and he makes a low hum of appreciation. His gilded gaze roams your form with obsession, and you feel hot and shy beneath the scrutiny. When you move your arms to cover your breasts, biting your lower lip, he slides his fingers down your shoulders, skimming the skin of your forearms until he meets with your hands. Capturing them, he raises your arms above your head, and begins to nuzzle the slope of your neck, his lips a feather's brush, the gentle worship of a man enamoured.

_**To hold you** _

_**Enfold you** _

When he reaches your breasts, he releases your hands, but a quick flick of his gaze suggests that lowering them without his permission right now is not on the agenda. You stand wholly exposed, a precious thing for him to devour, savour, gorge himself sated on the sleek of your skin. He palms your breasts tenderly, and you suck in a sharp breath as he flicks your left nipple with a relaxed lave. The graze of his pearly teeth makes your stomach fist in a clench, and you moan when he treats the right in the same manner. At the apex of your thighs, you're aching and slick. He knows. Oh, he _knows_.

When there is no inch of skin unkissed on your breast, he begins to kneel, nosing your stomach. He presses his fondness into the soft flesh there, adoring the yield of your body made comfortable by a life without combat and complication. His tongue runs a direct line down the curve of one of your hips, and you suffer a full-body tremble.

_**Never enough** _

_**Render your heart to me** _

At your thigh, he coaxes your legs into a part, and follows the trail of your wetness, open-mouthed kisses greedy on delicate skin. He stops just before touching the lips of your cunt, and you feel the heat of his breath in a whorl, before he's gone, navigating your other thigh. You've lowered your arms to rest on your own head to weave into your hair, because if you don't, they will be on his head. You're breathing deeply, every slow smooch on your skin coaxing a fresh trickle of arousal until you're certain you'll begin to drip.

That's how he wants you; blood-flushed cunt, needy, unable to stop squirming, unconsciously trying to get closer to his mouth. But he's in no hurry. He has all the time in the world for this meal.

When he finally licks a slow stripe up your slit, from your crying hole to the fizz of your clit, you make a raw moan and feel your knees weaken. His hands curl behind your thighs, a steady clench, keeping you stable and open for him. Your every exhale is laced with a whimper, and you can feel his smile.

_**All mine** _

_**You have to be** _

He noses your folds apart like you're a morning rosebud, exploring every petal of you with a sinful suckle, chasing the dew that clings to you with a lust-drunk fervour. Casually, he tongue-fucks your cunt for awhile, drawing out the taste of you; you can't help but settle your hands on his head, then, gasping. He allows it, not ceasing the attention, letting the bridge of his strong nose settle against your clit so that every time he thrusts upwards inside of you, the friction jolts in sharp sparks up your spine. When your fingers fist his hair, he withdraws his tongue.

Dazedly, you glance down, dotted with sweat-beads; he captures your gaze as he enters your pussy with his index finger, thick and calloused. You try and hold the stare for as long as possible, but your head rolls back when he curls cleverly and massages the rough raw nerves inside of you. Again, your knees buckle, and he wraps his free arm around you, behind you, supporting your plush bum with the strength of his forearm.

_**Make no mistake** _

_**You shan't escape** _

_**Tethered and tied** _

_**There's nowhere to hide from me** _

You hiss his name from between tight teeth as he circles your button in curling tongue-tip dips, tugging at the roots of his hair that you've ensnared. He growls lowly at that, and your velvety walls flex around the slow stroke of his single finger. As he slips in a second, he seals his lips around your clit, nudging the hood back slightly with the flat of his tongue. When he begins to suck at you, you're glad for the flex of his bicep, because you nearly lose your balance.

His rhythm increases gradually, the noise of his wet finger-fuck a sinfully slick sound, his purring vibrating right up your centre and picking your nerves apart. When he begins to apply perfect pressure within you, a manipulation that makes you begin to throb in tell-tale flutters, you tug at his hair again, heedlessly rocking against his face. He lets you take your pleasure from him now, your every gasp his fuel, your chant of his name his flame.

When you climax, it's an unfolding of an old love-letter crease-worn, a slow and silky tingle that splashes in waves that crest ever-higher until you're trembling weakly, relying entirely on his support. You make a noise you've never made before, something animalistic and low, your orgasm a raw symphony that he conducts with a masterful hand, urging the swell of the music until there's nowhere for the notes to go but down, lower, softer, his mouth the swan-song of strings, the slip of his fingers the last bassy percussion.

_**All mine** _

_**You have to be** _

He lets your legs give out and he's there to catch you, cradling you, holding you to him in the effervescent aftermath as you bask. For a time you simply reel, your hands tight in the cotton of his shirt, as if you're afraid he's the only anchor in your world. Neither of you speak; you breathe, you nuzzle, you exist in the hush of the space of love you've created together, content.

When you open your eyes, he regards you fondly, and you raise a hand to trace the angular line of his jaw. Your thumb strokes across his lower lip, and he kisses the pad. It's dark, but you can see him, and that's all that matters to you.

“Welcome home.” You whisper.

“No place like it, my love.” He hums.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can follow my Tumblr, @inber for drabble/general ramblings.


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